


Subject Style5

by Cuppa_Char



Category: Dark Angel, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, Part Chuck!fusion, Post Pulse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek, Sick Stiles Stilinski, X-5!Stiles, homeless!stiles, sexual deviant!stiles, street!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 02:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11370318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuppa_Char/pseuds/Cuppa_Char
Summary: Derek. Cop and Zone Patrol Officer. It’s been 10 years since the fire. 9 years, 11 months and three weeks since he was given a permit to leave the Outskirts. 5 years since he earned a permit to work the zones. It’s only been 2 since the world found out about Manticore.Stiles. Escaped Manticore Subject Style5. A sub-division from the X-5 line. One of a kind. Stiles isn’t like the others. He has a unique ability. One that none of the others have. And Manticore wants it back.





	Subject Style5

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up today with a vague recollection of dystopian!Stiles on the run and Derek in uniform. This happened. (I shall return to my other works but when your muse whispers sweet nothings in your ear, you must write it.)
> 
> So a TW/DA xover with a side dashing of Chuck ensues.

 

_Chapter 1_

 

 

 

It’s been 10 years since the fire. 9 years, 11 months and three weeks since he was given a permit to leave the Outskirts. 5 years since he earned a permit to work the zones. It’s only been 2 since the world found out about Manticore

Derek spots the kid sneaking through the zone’s border.

Protocol says he should have shot on sight.

He doesn’t because a) he’s just a _kid_ and b) he looks like a street kid in need of a fix.

So he decides to follow him instead.

He ends up trailing him to a closed up for the night pharmacy.

It was early but the pharmacy sat close to the zone centre and just like most of the other small outlets in the same area, they had closed way before curfew was up. The fines for staying open late were hefty and non-payments often resulted in a custodial stay. The outlets further out towards the Outskirts often stayed open later because they didn’t have the man-power to police it. The pharmacies were the most often hit for black trade after hours, but not so close to the curfew and so close to the border zone.

The kid is riffling through the cupboards, yanking pill bottles out and letting them fall to the floor, disinterested. He kicks a few away with his scuffed and worn converses, before snagging something that interested him, stuffing a few yellow bottles into his pocket. It doesn’t seem to be what he really wants because he shoves more bottles around in frustration, muttering to himself.

His self–preservation (and awareness) is obviously shot to hell because he has no clue Derek is standing a few feet behind him, Taser aimed at his back.

“Freeze kid,” he tells him clearly. “Turn around slowly, hands where I can see them. No funny business. You got a target on you.”

The boy freezes, tensing up, and for a second Derek thinks the kid is going straight for the funny, but then he sees the kid’s shoulder’s roll out as he turns, hands raised, still holding at least one bottle. His eyes widen for a split second, eyes tracking the red dot the Taser has on him, before looking back up. Surprisingly, the kid is grinning.

“Officer,” he says, still smiling.

“Zone Patrol Officer,” Derek corrects him.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful,” the boy snorts.

“I don’t care,” Derek grinds out between his teeth. “Why the hell are you smiling? I’m about to drag your ass down to the hub to process you.”

“Because,” he shrugs, “This will always be the day you remember you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow...”

“What?” Derek asks, stare blank.

“It’s a movie,” the boy says, body deflating. “A really, really old movie...”

“Whatever,” he mutters, stepping forward with the Taser. The kid flinches and takes a step back. “What’s in your pockets?”

“You want me to keep my hands where you can see them or show you what’s in my pocket?” he asks. He grins lewdly, licking his lips. “I’ll give you hint; it’s not a gun and I’m very happy to see you.”

“Shut your mouth,” Derek orders.

“You’re giving me very mixed messages here, Officer...” the kid pouts. “Okay, fine. If you’re so interested. Here. Catch.”

The kid unexpectedly throws the bottle from his hand and bolts. Derek barely even blinks, knocking the yellow pill bottle out of its trajectory with the butt of the Taser gun.

The stupid little shit was seriously trying to run.

Derek is across the room and on him in seconds, pinning the kid to the floor.

“Well that’s never happened before,” the boy mutters under him. He tries to shove Derek off him. When that doesn’t work he sees the boy try and reach out to snag Derek’s abandoned Taser.

“Don’t move,” Derek growls down at him, tightening his hold on the squirming body beneath him. He half expects there to be some kind of lewd remark again. Something about guns and happy hard-ons. The kid actually whimpers in response though and when Derek locks on to the boy’s eyes, he sees wild fleeting glances, and recognises the need for escape.

The kid bucks under him and Derek roll’s off him, snagging his red-hoodie with him. He has no choice but to be dragged back onto his feet.

He drags him the few feet to the abandoned pill bottle, bending both of them to snatch it up with his free hand.

“Vitamins?” he asks incredulously.

The kid looks up at him with wide eyes and shrugs.

“I’m not into the hard stuff.”

Derek shakes his head, digging his hand into the closest pocket.

“Hey, man…” he huffs in annoyance before suddenly pushing himself flush against Derek. “You only have to ask. I’ll let you have a proper touch.”

Derek shoves him away. “You’re just a kid.”

“I’m old enough,” he hears the kid mutter as he pulls out the other bottles he had seen him shove in there earlier.

“Antibiotics? Antiseptic? Pain pills?” Derek looks at him in confusion. “You won’t get anything for these on the black market. Were you planning on selling this shit?”

“Oxy usually gets a pretty penny,” the kid shrugs, with a smirk. “But they didn’t have any here.”

Derek raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

The boy sighs.

“They’re for me, okay?” he admits a beat later.

He doesn’t buy any of the kid’s shit. He was obviously in trouble. Why else be risked being picked up by a Zone Patroller when he could get those type of medical supplies at the free clinic open days the various zones provided. As long as the kid or his parents had a ticket and an ID card. Which obviously he had neither of.

“You got an ID card?” he shakes him a little. The kid grins up at him. “Cut the bullshit already.”

“Sir, yes, Sir…” he salutes him, straightening in his hold. “And to answer your first question, obviously not, Officer.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t haul your ass down to the hub to process you?” Derek says, ignoring the smart ass remark.

Derek really _doesn’t_ want to. He’s tired. He wants his shift to end so he can go home and sleep. This little shit will end up giving him at least another couple of hours of processing and paperwork.

“You really want to bust me over antibiotics and vitamins?” the kid asks, hopefully.

No, he really doesn’t.

“I’m an officer of the law,” Derek replies coolly instead.

“You’re a fucking zone patroller!” the kid explodes, the sudden anger surprising him. He tries to yank himself free but only succeeds in stretching his hoodie as he pulls himself further away. “A Fucking rent-a-cop. Real cops died out with the pulse,” he pulls in a ragged breath. “You’re just a fake like everyone else,” he mutters.

“Can it” Derek snaps, dragging the kid close again. He grabs the cuffs from the arsenal strapped to his belt. “Do fake cops have these?” he asks.

He lets the kid see them, watching as his eyes widen in panic, before spinning him around.

“No!” the kid pleads, roughly trying to pull his arms out of Derek’s hold as he pins the flailing arms behind his back. “Stop. Please don’t.”

“Stop it,” Derek orders, leaning into the boy’s back, acutely aware that there was a risk the kid would wrench his shoulder right out of his socket. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Do you fucking care?” The kid snarls.

“Yes,” Derek smirks. He grabs the metal between the boy’s restrained hands with one hand and the back of his hoodie with the other, prepared to throw him in the back of cruiser and drag his ass down to the hub. “Too much paperwork.”

“Please,” he pleads as Derek shoves him closer the pharmacy’s door. The kid kicks out, catching the frame with his foot, as though he was a petulant child. “Just let me go.”

“You broke the law, kid…” Derek mutters. “I’m just doing my job.”

He tries to shove him forward. The kid stubbornly refuses to move.

“Please don’t…” the kids pleads, voice catching.

His breath quickens and another whimper escapes, more strangled than before. He wriggles and wrenches himself further, causing Derek to pull backwards, straightening the boy up painfully. He pulls him against Derek’s chest. “Calm down,” he orders quietly into the boy’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” the kid mutters. Derek feels a shudder down the boy and at first he thinks the kid is crying but when he tentatively turns him around he sees that the kid’s eyes are panicked and glassy but definitely not crying. “Just let me go. Please.”

“I can’t do that,” he says softly.

“I need to go,” the kid stiffly says. “You can keep all that shit. I just need to find my Trypto, man. Please let me go so I can find it.”

_Trypto_

There was only one reason why anyone around here needed Trypto.

“Trypto?”

He takes a step back.

The kid flinches, eyes widening impossibly wider as the realization at what he had just revealed sunk in.

“No!” the kid tries to backtrack, actually stepping into the gap he hadn’t realized he had made. “No, that’s not what I meant…”

He snags the front of the boy’s hoodie, and twists, yanking him close as Derek studies him.

“There’s only one reason you need Trypto, kid…” Derek quietly says down to him. “Are you one of them?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Stiles stumbles back as the cop releases him, cuffed arms doing nothing to balance him.

“One of _them_?” he asks as he straightens up. He glares defiantly across the room. “That’s not very _nice_ , Officer Douchebag.”

“Officer is just fine,” the man says and then nods at him. “So, are you?”

“One of them?” Stiles shrugs. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Rent-a-cop repeats. “You either are or you’re not.”

“I guess not?” he says. He shrugs a little, looking around for an exit. “And maybe a little of the ‘Are’”

At Rent-A-Cops confused face Stiles turns and fixes him with a stare.

“It’s a long story,” he says and then lights his face up with a shit-eating grin. “I’m only good at bed-time stories,” he says. He saunters over as smoothly as he can with arms still cuffed behind him and sucks on his bottom lip. “I can give you one if you want. It starts with Little D…” he says with a laugh as he attempts to thrust in Rent-A-Cops direction.

“How about we start with your name?” Rent-A-Cop says as he shoves Stiles backwards. He’s not as rough as before and helps Stiles stand when he stumbles one step too much.

“No.” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I don’t trust easily.”

“Neither do I,” Rent-A-Cop says. “My name is Derek.”

“Still no” Stiles says quietly.

He sees what Rent-A-Cop is doing.

“Okay,” Derek says. “How about you tell me why you needed all that stuff?” he gestures down to the various pills and meds at their feet. “Apart from the Trypto, why do you need all this stuff? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of supersoldier.”

“That’s also a long story,” Stiles says. “And I’m tired.”

He turns and waggles his cuffed hands at Derek.

“Can you un-cuff me? They’re really chaffing me.”

“You trust me now?” Derek says as he steps up behind him.

“No,” Stiles huffs. “I think the real question is – do you trust me?”

“I-“

“And the answer is no,” Stiles interrupts him. “Otherwise you would be letting me go.”

“I don’t like people who talk for me, kid…” he hears before he feels Derek encircle his hands. A second later the cuffs are set loose and his hands are free.

“You’re letting me go?” he asks in surprise, turning around to face the officer.

“I didn’t say that,” Derek says and Stiles stiffens in front of him.

“What do you want?” Stiles asks, voice hard. “I already said you can have piece of me if you wanted and you turned me down. What? You don’t like it when they offer it to you? A few of your colleagues do? Is it a non-con thing? You like it when they fight back?”

He watches Derek’s mouth twitch, but instead of getting angry, the man takes a step back and sits on the counter.

“I just want to help.”

“I don’t believe you,” Stiles says. “Everyone wants something.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” Derek shrugs from where he casually sits. “You just have to let me show you.”

“I’m leaving,” he says. He takes step towards the door when he hears Derek again.

“I can get you Trypto.”

Stiles stills.

“You have Trypto?” he turns, asking in surprise.

“I know someone who does.”

“Why would you help me?”

“We’re not all bad guys,” Derek says with a shrug.

Stiles stalks forward.

“That there says something different,” he spits out, jabbing at the ZPO badge that was sewn over his chest.

“I just want to help,” Derek says again, softly, grabbing hold of Stiles hand and stilling his aggressive jab.

Stiles yanks his hand away.

“I. don’t. trust. you.” Stiles says again. It comes out between his teeth and for some goddamn reason he feels frustrated tears bubble up.

Derek nods, sighing. He plops down from the counter and gently pushes Stiles back.

Stiles watches as he reaches down and snags the Taser up again.

Stiles automatically flinches and steps away.

This time Derek reaches over and flips the safety on. A second later Stiles sees the red target light flicker off. Derek kicks the gun away and Stiles watches it skitter away to the opposite side of the room.

“Okay?” Derek asks.

“I’m not stupid, Officer…” Stiles spits out. “I know that’s not the only weapon you carry.”

He watches wearily as Derek unclips his weapons belt and flings it to where the Taser lays. Pepper Spray, Utility belt blade, gun and holster. Stiles gulps.

“Why didn’t you use that?” he asks.

“I told you. I’m not the bad guy.”

Derek, finally, reaches down and pulls two small blades from his sock.

“Jeez, Derek…” Stiles glibly quips. “Don’t give all your secrets away.”

“You can trust me,” Derek says as he straightens. When the blades have joined the other weapons on the floor, Derek gestures to the other side of the room.

Stiles follows, putting enough equal distance between the arsenal and Derek as he can.

He slides down the wall to the floor, knees tucked against his chest, and watches as Derek sits across from him.

“I will help you,” Derek promises him. “But to do that I need you tell me what trouble you’re in.”

Stiles nods but silently promises to find a way to gouge the man’s eyes out if he was to ever betray him.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitates before mumbling “Stiles.”

“Stiles?”

“Well actually it’s Style5,” he admits. “I’m a sub-division of the X-5 line. You know them, right? They’re the reason that Manticore burnt to the ground. The reason I’m here now.”

Derek nods.

 “And you’re like them?”

“No,” Stiles shakes head, bitterly. “I didn’t get the superpowered genetics. If I did, I probably still wouldn’t be in this room with you right now.”

When Derek didn’t ask any more questions, Stiles continued. “During the X-5 Fiasco they thought they’d try a more ‘humane’ way of creating their transgenic supersoldier.”

“Humane?” Derek prompts curiously when Stiles comes to a quiet stop.

“I had a mom and dad,” Stiles says abruptly. He sees Derek’s eyes soften at the use of past tense. “Mom was a counsellor for the kids. She always told me she never fully realized what they were doing. I guess someone had to look after them,” he shrugs, hating the idea that his mom would have willingly joined Manticore. “Dad was a cop. They struggled with money. For some reason they agreed to join Manticore’s fertility programme. And I was the result.”

“So… You’re…” Derek’s at a loss for words.

“I have my mom and dad’s genes,” Stiles says, looking down at his hands clasped over his knees. “They spliced it with a little cat DNA here, a little of everything else there. Only I skipped out on most of the benefits. I’m fast though, like a mother fucking cheetah…” Stiles lifts his head and grins at Derek, a little proudly. Seeing Derek’s raised eyebrow, Stiles grin fades out. “Most of the time…”

“And that’s why you needed all that stuff?” Derek gestures to the bottles.

“I live on the streets. I don’t have X-5’s super healing ability or strength. I can’t afford to get sick.”

“How long have you been running?” Derek asks.

“This time?”

“This time?”  Derek repeats, concern flashing in already curious eyes

“Two years since Manticore came down. Five in total.”

Derek raises his eyes but doesn’t prompt him.

“Mom and dad ran with me. Manticore weren’t happy with my results. They brought me in for tests,” Stiles lifts his eyes and sets pained ones on Derek. “They weren’t humane at all. I got cup open and holes drilled in my head.”

“Shit,” Derek breathes in, paling.

“Manticore were pissed. I was producing unsatisfactory results and considered damaged goods.”

“Stiles…” Derek mutters. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” he mutters.  He looks at Derek and points at his head. “They couldn’t splice anymore DNA into me so they performed an experimental procedure. They drilled a hole in my head and implanted a chip. They then basically downloaded Manticore’s mainframe into my brain.”

He pauses and ignores Derek’s queasy look.

“I’m still pretty useless, but I’m an asset to the right – or wrong – people,” he pauses again. “You’re probably in danger around me.”

“I can look after myself,” Derek says instead. “Are your parents dead?”

“Mom is,” Stiles gulps, feeling his eyes sting. “When she realized what was happening she grabbed me and ran,” Stiles feels another tremor shake his body. He flexes his fingers and waits it out. “Melissa, a nurse, helped her escape. She met up with us later with her son, Scott and we ran together. They found us six months later in Beacon Hills and shot mom in the head. But we managed to get away. It was just me, dad, Scott and Melissa until three years ago.”

A few tears spill over.

“Are they dead?”

“I don’t know,” he says, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “We were ambushed on a supply run. We got separated. I don’t know what happened to them.”

“They might have survived, Stiles…”

“I hope so.”

Another full on tremor shakes him and Stiles feels the tell-tale signs of his muscles tightening in his calves.

“I’m sorry,” Derek tells him again. “I know what that must have felt like.”

“You don’t know anything,” Stiles snaps. “You weren’t on the run. You didn’t have your family killed because of you…”

“I’m more like you then you think,” Derek interrupts him.

“You’re nothing like me,” Stiles whispers, voice strained. So alone.

“My family was murdered.”

Stiles eyes snap up to him.

“Ten years ago. Arson,” Derek says. His voice is clinical. Detached. But Stiles still hears the emotion feeding it. “A few of us barely got out alive. My parents, my brother and sister, aunt and uncle, nephews and nieces. All gone. I had to hear them scream as they burned to death. And it was partly my fault. I trusted the wrong people.”

“Sorry,” It’s Stiles now, offering platitudes. He feels wetness to his cheeks again and violently rubs at his face, partly to swipe away the tears and partly to hide his shame.

“C’mon…” Derek says, standing up. Stiles flinches for a second when Derek strolls over and reaches down to him, but lets the older man pull him to his feet. “Let’s get you your Trypto…”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“I called Max. She’s on her way.”

Stiles sits on the sofa and watches Derek with the other man.

Logan Cale.

Eyes Only.

Derek hadn’t introduced him as either.

Only Logan.

But it didn’t take a genius to know who he was, especially with the amount of computers around him.

Stiles irrefutably refused to step any close. He’d told Derek that it was because he didn’t trust his brain. The opposite was also true. Stiles couldn’t wait until he could return when there was no one else here, where he could open his little receptors and manipulate the computers to his will. Cale had some mega-shit that Stiles could use. The amount of technology he had. The amount of access to the airwaves there was. Stiles could use it. Could use it to finally try and find them.

He’d use the time on this visit to get his Trypto, stake out the place and return when no one else was here.

Of course, Cale – or Eyes Only – wasn’t too pleased to realise who Derek had tagging along with him. A Super Computer who probably knew too much. But, he’d taken one look at Derek’s charge, shaking with occasional tremors from the lack of Trypto in his system, and had reluctantly backed down, letting them both in, with an utterance of calling Max.

Max. X-5 452. The girl who brought Manticore down. The reason that the world knew they even existed. Stiles didn’t know if he should love or hate her for it.

He wandered away to examine the rest of Cale’s room as Cale and Derek got into a hushed argument. Max tuned up, gave him one unimpressed look and ignored him, in favour of joining in on the hushed argument.

Stiles caught a few words here and there as he surveyed the room. A bottle of pills stood on the side and Stiles managed to pocket them without anyone noticing. He also snatched a few bills, loose change, and a bunch of keys.

_“I’m from the Outskirts. You’ve gone Underground. We’re on the same page.”_

_“You’re still a ZPO.””_

_“I’m Still a WH.”_

It isn’t until it’s gone quiet that he realizes the argument has finished and Max is at this side. She shoves him away so she can slide a tile from the wall.

“Oh,” Stiles says, surprised. “Cool.”

“Don’t think about coming back for more,” Max tells him. “I move them around all over the same place, so it won’t be here if you do.”

She studies him for a bit until she pushes the bottle into his hand, forcing his spasm-ing hand around it. “Take the bottle until Hale can hook you up with his contact.”

“Hale?” Stiles asks, confused.

She nods over her shoulder at Derek.

“Oh, you mean Rent-A-Cop.”

She looks back with an amused grin.

“What’s your usual dose?”

“Two,” he replies.

“Double it,” she nods down to his hands. “The shakes have already set in. You’re gonna need it.”

Max leaves and Stiles goes to Logan’s bathroom. He dry swallows some of the pills he found – Valium – with the Trypto and tries not gag. He knows he’ll need to lie down soon and opts for the tub, which seemed the safer option.

He closes his eyes and tenses again when Derek joins him in the room a few minutes later.

“I want to be alone,” Stiles tells him. He’s always been a little funny over who got see him spazz-out uncontrollably. His dad and Melissa were the last two.

“Did you take some of these?” Derek ignores him.

Stiles opens one eye to see Derek holding the Valium bottle over his head.

“Just a little,” Stiles says and closes his eyes. “Will you leave me alone now?”

“Like I’m gonna leave you to potentially choke to death on your vomit in a friend’s tub.”

Stiles eyes open again. A little sluggishly this time.

“You call him a friend? You seem to hate each other.”

“He’s helped me a lot.”

Stiles eyes slide shut against his will and he feels his head loll against the edge of the tub, body sliding a little too much with another tremor.

He hears Derek sigh and then a second later a hand is lifting his head, a towel being pushed between the tub and his head.

Stiles eyes snap open, and hand flying up to catch hold of Derek’s wrist above his head. His eyes lock on the tattoo – the branding – on Derek’s forearm.

_WH_

He feels the recognition behind his eyes. His chip, his receptors, the ‘spark’ they had called it, ignites and his brain flashes images and words behind his brain before he can force it back down.

Derek pulls his arm back in surprise, obviously seeing the bright lighting in his eyes.

“WH…” he gasps. “You’re a WH.”

The words from before and the images behind his eyes fuse together.

_The Outskirts_

_His family burning to death ten years ago_

_WH_

_Hale_

_Derek Fucking Hale_

His eyes flare again before fusing out, leaving his head achy and tingly.

“Yes, Stiles. I’m A Were. I’m a Hale,” Derek says, still leaning over him. “I told you I’m more like you than you think,” he murmurs.

 _Shit_ , Stiles thinks as the Valium and Trypto starts to pull him under, _he’s about to pass out in front of the big bad wolf._ Stiles hopes the stories from his Manticore days were just that. Stories. He holds on to one hope.

_The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

 

* * *

 

 

_tbc_


End file.
